Hate Me
by Laser Lance 720
Summary: In the heat of passion, Harry sees the scars he placed on Draco for the first time. He doesn't understand why Draco doesn't hate him.


Written using Prompts from Gringotts ((CSI: New York – (clothing article) Black tie – (object) eye glasses – (dialogue) "How long is this tour?"))

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter series or anything that resembles it. I own nothing. I make no money off of this piece or any other piece that I write. I am broke, as are the rest of you. We are in the same sad little boat.

Thank you for clicking and reading this piece. I hope you enjoy it.

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Little attention was payed to the black tie that Harry all but savagely ripped from around Draco's neck. He tangled the article in his hands, before leaving it to cascade through the air and become lost under an arm chair. He continued walking the man backwards, his lips never removing themselves from soft pale skin. Harry dragged his fingers through Draco's soft blond locks, marveling at how light it was against his skin.

A moan rippled through Draco's throat as Harry dragged his teeth over it. Harry chuckled at the response, which caused another moan to sound.

"How long is this tour?" Draco's voice came out with a rush. He was pressed against the wall, his hand running behind him trying to find a doorway. "Not to rush you, but I've seen enough of your living space, Potter. Not impressed."

Harry pulled away, a hand still interwoven in those silky blond strands of hair. "Excuse me? I have a pretty nice flat, thank you very much."

Draco's grey eyes trailed over the area, taking it in, before they landed back on the man inches from his face. Excitement ran through his eyes. He shrugged. "It's decent. I'd much rather see the bedroom though."

Harry took the invitation, his lips crashing against the waiting pair. They stumbled together, feeling their way along the wall and knocking over several items that had sat on a nearby table. They were in the bedroom just seconds before Draco ripped the final button off Harry's shirt and pulled the navy blue feature from his body. Harry's hands were following the same route, his fingers carefully sliding the buttons of Draco's shirt through their holes. He had the bottom half of them undone, before he placed his hands along Draco's shoulders and shoved him back.

The blond look startled for a moment, before realizing that he now lay on the bed. Propping himself to his elbows, he had just enough time to stabilize himself before Harry was in his lap, lips and tongue continuing to devour him with such an appetite that Draco never knew possible. He knew how hungry Harry got when the two of them were this close to one another, but this was the first time they had decided to take it this far…

… And neither of them were planning on slowing down or stopping. Harry continued to bit against the soft skin of Draco's neck, pressing further as nails dug in around the roots of his curled hair. His fingers shredded the final button of Draco's shirt. His attention never leaving that little section of skin right where Draco's collar bone was, Harry yanked Draco's shirt open.

He leaned back along his knees, admiring the man that rested between his legs. Draco's hair was tussled about, falling around him in a way Harry found too alluring for words. Thin white scars ran from the corner of Draco's outer eye and trailed down his cheek and neck. Harry had touched those scars so many times. He had ran his lips along those scars many times, but he had never seen where those scars disappeared below the collar of his shirt.

With his shirt now draped off him, Harry got a clear view of where those scars lead. He had never seen the damage his handiwork had really done. He never knew that the three little paper white scars that he had licked and teased where actually his work. The scars along his chest were a series of crossing lines which stretched from just below his collar bone and down along the sharp bone of his hip. Harry stared at them, his finger trailing along a rather short scar.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice thick with regret and guilt.

Draco propped himself up on his elbows. He didn't notice the watery shine to Harry's eyes as he smirked. "You should be sorry. I'm sitting here in the throes of passion, and you just stop? I feel like I'm about to burst. What gives, Potter?"

Following the line of vision to those starting green eyes, Draco caught sight of the scars along his bare chest. He considered drawing his shirt closed around him, but decided not to. Sighing, he kept his eyes lowered. "They hurt like hell for a few years. They still sting a little, when it rains of all things. But otherwise they don't bother me. They're just kind of there. I forget about them a lot."

Harry continued to trace the scars. His finger was moving along one that just missed slicing Draco's nipple. It was one of the thicker scars; the one that thinned out along his neck and check. "I didn't know what the spell did."

"I figured as much." At Harry's confused expression, Draco continued to explain. "The look in your eyes after it hit me. I had never seen you so scared. So concerned. It wasn't the look of someone who wanted to cause pain. I'd spent enough time around some pretty twisted folk to know what that expression looked like, and you didn't have it."

"I panicked. You were throwing a Cruciatus and I just panicked. I could have disarmed you. Could have created a shield. I could have done anything. Anything other than casting that curse."

"In a way, I'm glad you did. I should thank you."

"I cut you navel to nose!" Harry stopped running his fingers along the scar. He leaned away from Draco, balancing himself above the other man's hips. He stared at him in shock. "You almost died. You would have bleed to death there and it would have been my fault. I would have killed you and you want to thank me. Are you some kind of masochist?"

Draco, despite the seriousness of the conversation and the sharp tension in the air, found himself laughing. He dropped backwards onto the bed, running a hand along his forehead. Staring at the ceiling, he could only smile; a haunting smile that made his face look so much younger than his twenty four years.

"When you came into that bathroom," Draco spoke slowly, his eyes locked on a fly buzzing along the ceiling, "I didn't know what to expect. I was half expecting you to scream your accusations and have Dumbledore in the doorway behind you. I figured that you were coming in there to gloat before they dragged me to Azkaban. I thought it was over. Everything I had done, all the nights spent aimlessly wandering the halls, all the times I'd disappeared to scream and cry and just beg… I thought it was over. I wanted it to be. I wanted to hand myself over. To tell the truth and beg for mercy I knew I didn't deserve.

"And at the same time, I wanted to hurt you. You stood there was that cocky look in your eyes. All those years of despising you, it all came back. Hating you has always been easy and in that moment it was all I had. My father was rotting in prison, and I blamed you. My mother had been tortured in light of his failures, and I blamed you. I had been beaten, cursed, marked and forced into a role I had never wanted, and I blamed you."

Harry kept listening, his hand now traveling over Draco's half exposed dark mark. When they had first got together nearly five months ago, Draco hadn't let him near it. He kept his sleeves low and it was out of the question. When he had finally grown comfortable enough, Draco had allowed Harry to see it. To touch it. To run his hands over cold ink and horrid memories. The mark was now nothing but a faded grey reminder that sat inside the garden of flowers he had gotten tattooed along his arm. The dark mark had never looked less sinister than it did on a regretful young man with an arm full of flowers.

"I wanted you to suffer, the way I had been suffering." Draco's voice was flat now, as if he were trying to detach himself from his words. "When you stood there in all your self-importance, I snapped. And I threw an Unforgivable at you. And if you hadn't stopped me, if you hadn't of cast that curse, it would have hit you. And I would have been in Azkaban. Sixteen or not, the Cruciatus is an unpardonable action. Especially when cast at the great Harry Potter. I would have been in jail before the sun came up. I would have failed my mission. My mother would have been killed not long after. My father would have followed suit, and it would have felt like forever before the Dark Lord finally came to finish the punishment."

Draco stopped for a moment, eyes doing their best to stay dry. "But it didn't happen. You stopped me from doing something absolutely terrible. Something you don't come back from. I'd take a few scars any day, over what the alternative would have been."

Harry only stared down at the man under him; a man he had grown to love beyond measure. The scars that sat between them began to heal as they connected their gaze.

"Why don't you hate me?" Harry asked softly.

"Why don't you hate me?" Was Draco's response.

Neither moved, their bodies pressed together as Harry continued to half sit on Draco's groin. The brunette ran a hand through his hair, an easy smile gracing his lips. "Hating you… it used to be so easy. Now… Now it's hard to hate someone you absolutely love."

Grey eyes widened at that final word. "Love? You love me, Potter?"

"Yes." There was a hesitance in his voice. It was replaced by that ever cocky smirk Draco had grown desperate for. "Now don't be annoying about it."

Offense colored Draco's lips. "Annoying? That's rude to say to someone you love."

"And you're ruining the moment," Harry said, with a roll of his eyes and a smile on his lips. His gaze landed back on those scars. A sole dark finger trailed along the scars. "Do you forgive me? For putting these on you?"

"I do."

After a moment, the smile on Harry's lips turned more into a wicked smirk. "Isn't it a little early for the 'I do's'?"

"Oh for fucks sake…" Draco reached out, wrapping his hand behind Harry's neck. He drew himself up, lips inches from one another. "I did not come here for a conversation, Potter. Now, are you going to kiss me or-"

Harry wasted no time in shoving his lips against the waiting pair. Hands began to move greedily along skin that was quickly becoming familiar to the other. As Harry's lips tickled over the scars of Draco's check, and his hands knotted themselves in his chest muscles, he found the guilt that had embedded into him slowly fading.


End file.
